My Dearer Half
by fanfic.addicted01
Summary: A little one shot I did with the lovely PoetHrotsvitha who is a dear friend of mine, awesome writer and excellent sinner :P I can't even say how grateful I am for her, because she grabbed my horrible story, did a beta work and also added her own suggestions and transformed into this awesome one. About a drunken Jacob Frye who has to face his feelings even if he doesn't want to.


Celebrating with the Rooks always meant a good time. Fun and alcohol— _lots_ of alcohol. And Jacob Frye never said no to some fun. After all, he worked hard to get rid of Templars, didn't he? And he was a frankly marvellous gang leader to boot. He deserved some fun.

But there was a point where the fun ended and the misery started. Somewhere around seven or eight drinks, when his thoughts started to blur around the edges.

He usually tried to avoid that point as much as he could, but sometimes he just couldn't help it. His life was too complicated by half nowadays: Father, London, Evie… Mostly Evie. Evie and the fucking impenetrable walls that she built around herself, her well-hidden emotions. He always had the sense she expected him to hide his emotions too, especially about— well— _them_.

Perhaps she was right and it was unprofessional to act purely on your feelings, but Jacob thought the whole idea was stupid. He never stood for that sort of logic— he mostly acted how he wanted to act and did what he thought to be right. This didn't mean every decision of his was actually _right_ , mind. There was Evie, for one.

His cheerful mood slipped further and further away as darker thoughts started to dredge up from somewhere, somewhere down in the deepest parts of him, where he usually left them shoved away. He suddenly didn't feel like celebrating any more; he only wanted to get rid of the happy Rooks and get out of the pub. He could go back to the train. Not that he wanted to face his sister either, but he could lay down in the dark and sulk there. With any luck he would be all alone, Evie off chasing after her magical shroud. God, she was so obsessed with that stupid thing, devoting all the hours of her day to it.

Ignoring the disappointed chorus of the Rooks as he stood, he shoved his empty tankard away and made his excuses, pushing through the crowds and out onto the dark streets of Whitechapel. The fog was thick as always, the clack of horses' hooves and rumble of rolling wheels echoing as people hastily went about their business.

After three tries, Jacob flagged down a Growler, barking directions at the driver and tossing the fare over with unsteady fingers. Climbing in proved a bit of a challenge, but he persevered. As the horse started to trot, he sank deeper into his dark mood and Jacob let it _wallow_.

He normally tried to ignore these tempers of his. Because if he dwelled on them that meant he wasn't concentrating on his mission, on his goals. And that could cost him his life. And Jacob preferred to be alive, thank you very much. Life seemed quite a bit more interesting than death.

It didn't help that things with Evie were becoming worse and worse over time. The usual shoving-down-of-feelings was becoming less effective. When she was in his arms he never wanted to let her go, and Jacob was desperate to know her thoughts about the whole mess— did she feel the same? If she did, she hid it well. Or did she feel— well— something else?

What the hell was she even thinking?

Absently, Jacob worried at a loose thread in his coat, the fraying edge becoming worse and worse under his fingers. She'd probably scold him for dressing like a tramp later. Ah well.

The fact of the matter was that Evie rarely discussed personal things with him. Only mission plans and theories about where the Shroud might be. And he usually ignored those.

Maybe that was his mistake. Maybe if he listened to her more, she would open up eventually. But then again, even with those walls up, she still slept with him… So what the hell was that about? The more he picked at the thought, she more it ached. For God's sake, she wasn't even _here_ and he was already frustrated with her. The carriage went over a rut and Jacob groaned, shoving his face into his hands. Fuck it, fuck it _all_ — why the hell did this have to be so complicated?

He nearly laughed bitterly, because of course, the answer to that was easy. Even when his brain was swimming in beer. Of course it was because of their fucking blood relation, even a blind man could see that.

Sometimes Jacob dreamed of how things would be easier if they weren't related. He could court her, then, even if he wouldn't quite know how to go about it and probably would make a mess of the thing. He barely knew anything about wooing a woman who wasn't from the streets or from a small village… or who wasn't his own sister. Ah well, even if he knew what to do, he guessed that she wouldn't want to be courted. Evie seemed to totally dislike anything normal…

...Even love. Did she love him? Did he love her? Did he even know what it is like to love a woman? He'd had several adventures with village girls, of course – he'd always been the curious type, and he sorely needed some distracting from the filthy and wrong thoughts that he kept having about his sister. The village girls had lived up to that task. For a while.

But he'd never really _loved_ anyone, not until Evie.

Finally lifting his swimming head, Jacob twitched the curtain aside, trying to make sense of where they were or recognise something along the road. It all seemed vaguely familiar. They were probably getting close to the train.

Shuffling back down, he knocked his head against the back of the seat and stared at the grooves of the ceiling. Other blokes called him lucky for having his looks (because he was _very_ handsome, that much he was quite certain about). Finding a pretty girl wasn't a big problem for him, not really. But he didn't love them. He said some pretty words to them and experienced things with them, sure, and that was sort of like loving them. But Evie was different, he knew. Not just because they were twins. There was a lot more to it than that.

He felt closer to her than anyone else— he wanted to protect her, be with her, make her happy. If they hadn't been related, he would've happily courted her, even tried to amuse her. Maybe… Maybe even... Marry her. Have kids. Little button-nosed assassins with her freckles. His brain happily tripped along that path, imagining her full and swollen with his baby—

But the carriage went over another jolt, bringing him back down to earth. Real life was cruel. Being assassins meant they both would count themselves lucky if they saw their 40th birthday. He should be happy with freeing London with his time. That should be enough. That would _have_ to be enough.

Except it wouldn't be. Because he would always want more. It was an aching, empty hunger, filled up with anger and resentment.

"Station, Sir," the driver called. Shoving the door open, Jacob stumbled to the ground, much less gracefully than he would've liked. By the time he reached his carriage, his mind was starting to clear ever so slightly, but his steps were still unsteady. Climbing onto the train without falling under it felt like a huge achievement. Wobbling across the room, he tossed his top hat and the coat onto the floor, with every intention of just crashing on the couch. But as he spun to flop down, he saw the dim light from Evie's carriage.

Anger, irrational and potent, flared up inside him as he stared at the sliver of flickering light. Without even being able to fully explain why, he felt… betrayed. Ignored. _Unloved_. It clawed at him, from deep in his stomach all the way up his throat.

Fuck this.

Nostrils flaring, he marched toward the connecting door and almost ripped it open— it slammed against its frame with _bang,_ revealing Evie sitting at her desk. She flinched at the sound, head twisting towards him. She was still dressed, but without her coat and her weapons; clearly, she was putting some final touches to her plans or doing research about that fucking shroud, working with that bastard Greenie— who no doubt wanted to touch her, have her, fuck her— the thought made him growl with disgust and possession, his fingers twitching for his blade. Evie was _his_ and _only_ his.

"What—" she started, but he cut into her sentence with a snarl.

"Do you love me?"

"—happened… What?" There was a moment's pause before her brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing. "Are you drunk?"

"Answer the question." She had to be able to see that he was drunk as hell. He was pretty sure she could smell it too.

Rather than answering, she tapped her fountain pen to the desk, clearly trying to buy some time, to avoid the question. As if she was devising a way to distract him for long enough to get out of addressing it.

But she wasn't going to succeed. Oh no. Jacob curled his hands at his sides. Not this time, sweet sister.

Jacob stepped in fully and closed the door, advancing until he towered over her. She could hit him and his reaction would be too slow, no question— Evie could best him even when he was sober and expected her to attack, with him in this state she could do it with her eyes closed. But even knowing this, it felt good, to just pretend that he had the upper hand for a moment. For a brief and heady blink, she seemed helpless, but she stiffened before long. Evie Frye always controlled herself.

She looked him in the eye and took a deep breath. "Jacob…"

Oh no, nonono. He knew that tone. That tone was 'It's not so simple' and 'Things are complicated'. She used it to tell him to grow up, to act like the trained assassin he was supposed to be, to follow Father's teachings and the Brotherhood, to lecture him.

 _'You have to give something to get something.'_

"Because I do. I do, Evie, I love you. I know I do."

No answer.

The longer he stood there in silence, the dryer his mouth became. Shit. Had he scared her? Could she even be scared, or had she lost that capacity over the years?

He tried another tack, gentling his voice. "I know we usually don't discuss things like this, but I have to know." But even as he tried to be cajoling and soft, his tongue felt too big in his mouth, tangling his words as surely as the beer still tangled his thoughts. Damn it all, this had gone much better in his head.

"Jacob…" Her tone was softer this time, something indescribably tender flashing in her eyes, very nearly vulnerable. "Of course. Of course, I do." She reached out for him, touched his arm, the gentleness of her fingertips reassuring even through his shirtsleeve. "What do you think— why do you think I'm so afraid every time you're out and alone in the night? Those missions of yours… I _am_ very proud of you, really. But you always solve things the most dangerous way that you can think of. Leaping headlong into fights, enjoying them far too much and not paying nearly enough attention to your safety. Maybe we argue and maybe I get cross, but I do it because I don't want to lose you. I know I can't change you— but all the arguing, all the yelling, it doesn't mean I don't love you. If I didn't care, I wouldn't say a word. Surely you know that."

Jacob stared back blankly as the words slowly worked their way through the fog in his brain. Oh. That all sounded sensible. This _was_ Evie, after all. Sweet words and declarations of love probably would've sounded strange coming from her, incongruous when paired with the hands that could kill anyone with a twist. He should've known. She'd expected him to know. "I just…" He swallowed. "I thought… You're always awfully sweet with Greenie…"

This earned a raised brow.

Okay, so saying it out loud made it sound a bit stupid, even in his current state. But he couldn't help it - if Jacob was truly honest with himself, he had to admit that he was _slightly_ jealous. Not of what Greenie and Evie had. They had nothing, he was sure of that now. He just wanted Greenie gone, back to India or God-knows-where, away so Evie was left all to him and only ever to him—

But before his thoughts could fly away with this, he felt Evie's hands on his, her touch soft and warm. Suddenly, Jacob felt the exhaustion rush back in, shuttering his eyes and making him sway lightly on his feet. The adrenaline that had been keeping him awake drained away in an instant, leaving only a bewildering mix of fatigue and relief.

Evie could see it. "Come to bed."

He obeyed and followed her as she stood and moved further into the room, because when was the last time he didn't follow her? He dumbly moved the way Evie directed as she helped him out of his clothes, assisting with the too-small buttons and complicated clasps of his belts, just as any good sister would. Then she led him to bed and embraced him, just as any good lover would.

Curled around her and with her soft hair against his nose, he wanted to say something, something more, to share _everything_ with her all in one unsteady burst. To lay it all bare at her feet. But, then, in some ways, it felt like it would be unnecessary; she knew the heart of it already.

Jacob loved Evie and Evie loved Jacob. It was all as simple as that.


End file.
